


Game of Kings

by aideomai



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Auguste Lives, M/M, hints of D/s, that one quote that everyone's obsessed with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6544681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aideomai/pseuds/aideomai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Thank you, I know exactly how it would have been. You and Auguste would have been slapping each other on the back and watching tournaments, and I would have been trailing around tugging on your sleeve, trying to get a look in edgewise.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game of Kings

On the third day of the tournament Damen rode the okton.

Auguste wanted to ride it, too, but his uncle said, "My king, it must be out of the question," and Jokaste said, "Exalted, our peace talks would come to nothing if you accidentally killed the King of Vere."

"I hope no one thinks I'm that bad at the okton," Damen said laughing, but he clapped Auguste on the shoulder and said, "Next time, my friend."

"Yes, show me how it's done," Auguste agreed, "and then next time I'll see about knocking you off your horse."

"There's peace talk for you!" Damen told Jokaste, and there was general laughter and merriment all round, though Damen refused another glass of the fine Veretian wine before he took to his horse. It had been a fine three days, all of the doubts Damen had had before the journey falling away in the face of the young Veretian king, who was as capable and friendly a man as any Damen had met in the army, and who took his country seriously and himself not at all. A very good kind of king, Damen thought, and his court was - if a little overt for Damen's tastes - friendly enough, and Damen had the satisfaction of knowing he'd talked his father out of war for good reason. There was talk of unrest on the Vaskian borders and Akielos was not all so far away: Damen wanted to have as many friends as possible between him and the Vaskian Empress.

He swung up onto his horse and then shaded his eyes with a hand, peering back at the royal stand. Auguste and his uncle lifted genial goblets to the air, and Jokaste was draped across her chair, the sweet folds of her chiton becoming in the golden day even as she complained about the cold. There were courtiers scattered round them, and Kastor leaning by the stairs; he'd appointed himself head of Damen's royal guard, though Damen had argued the position was beneath him. Kastor looked surly about being there, mouth twisted and brow heavy. Damen frowned, watching him. He wanted his brother to be happy.

"Looking for me?" a light voice came, and Damen looked down to see the young Veretian prince standing by the head of his horse, looking up at him, gaze clear and blue and hands folded behind his back.

"Oh, hello," Damen said, smiling. "I wasn't, no. Your brother said you weren't a fan of sports - we assumed you'd gone to read somewhere."

The prince's lips twitched, just slightly. "That would hardly be diplomatic of me."

"Oh, diplomacy is overrated amongst such fine and plainspeaking people," Damen said cheerfully, and the prince - what was his name - stared up at Damen, and then smiled.

"Just so," he said. "I've brought your horse a treat for his trouble." He gave Damen's horse an admiring look. "A fine mount."

"He is," Damen said, patting it, and then, "Ah, how sweet," when the prince offered Damen's horse a sugar lump, long fingers outstretched.

"Good luck," the prince said, that clear, intent gaze trained on Damen again for a moment, and Damen hesitated and then shook his head, laughing at himself, the strange prickle that had crept down his spine.

"Thank you, Prince Lamonte," he said, and spurred his horse toward the ground.

He rode the okton well. He had for years. There were admiring cheers and shouts from the crowd, surprise and delight from the Veretians, pride from the Akielons. Damen wheeled his horse around when he had done it almost perfectly - one or two spears just off the bullseye, but never mind, Damen would have it the next time - and saluted the royal stand. Auguste was cheering joyfully, banging his cup on its stand; Damen could just see, across the distance, Jokaste's smile, crooked and pleased, and knew he'd done well.

Turning to walk his horse off the field, he realised that the young prince had not joined the others in the stand: he was leaning against the fence, closer to the okton field, and when Damen's gaze fell on him he straightened but didn't move away. After a moment, surprised, Damen raised his hand in greeting, and the Prince of Vere nodded back at him.

\---

Veretian food was complicated and came in too many servings, too small sizes: a mouthful of a thing and it was gone, and servants were bringing on the next plate. Kastor seemed confused, looking about for slaves, but Damen remembered his history lessons and said nothing. The Veretians had been very gracious about the retinue of Akielon slaves who'd been brought with them, and Damen didn't intend to get into an argument about ethics of all things. Besides, the Veretians had their pets, and many of them were very talented and pleasing, and one had clearly been lent to Kastor, sprawling across his lap and blinking prettily at him.

Jokaste was fascinated. "How lovely," she said, and the red-headed pet who'd been singing met her eyes, level and interested. Jokaste said, "And really, it is only women who couple with women here, and men with men?"

"Until marriage," King Auguste said, with a quick look at one of the female courtiers.

" _Interesting_ ," Jokaste said.

Damen laughed.

On his other side, the Regent stood up and excused himself, leaving the room with an indulgent smile - "Some matter of state, nothing pressing," he said. The young prince of Vere leaned over the empty space he'd left and murmured to Damen, "Then it's true, that the Akielons are not monogamous?"

Damen blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"They say the Lady Jokaste will be your queen," the Prince said.

Damen flushed and looked away. He was never particularly sure where he stood with Jokaste, and whether basking in the warmth of her attention or furious with her coolness, he was always uncertain, ready to be unbalanced again. And though he didn't think gossip was only a Veretian habit, Akielons were a little warier at reporting gossip, particularly to the subjects of it.

"I have always admired the Lady Jokaste," he said at last.

The Prince of Vere looked back at him, those docile eyes. "But not the Lady Jokaste alone."

"No," Damen said, and then, smiling, trying to be jocular, "Are you offering me a pet?"

"No," the prince said.

Auguste leaned in, overhearing some. "My brother doesn't keep pets," he said, with a fond look. "He's our high aesthete. Not quite blood and bone, the people say. But we know that's not true, don't we, Laurent?"

_Laurent_ , Damen thought, a little embarrassed, and turned in time to see Laurent's gaze still fixed on Damen's face, as though he'd never let his attention swerve. Laurent said, "No," and Auguste laughed delightedly.

"If you'd seen him in as many scrapes as I have, you'd know he's perfectly human," Auguste said. "Can't count the number of times he's fallen off his horse trying to follow it along the wrong paths. Never mind his sword training! So, no, my brother doesn't keep pets," he concluded, slapping Damen on the back, "but you mustn't think of him as some far off ice creature, the way some people do. He's just shy. Aren't you, Laurent?"

Laurent would not look away from Damen. He said, "Yes."

\---

It was another late night, as they had all been late nights, but Damen's body was aching from the okton and he excused himself earlier than the past two nights when he and Auguste had sat up nearly until dawn, laughing and talking and swapping stories of youth and kingship. Damen was not quite king, but he could feel its burden waiting, like a cloak someone else was still settling around his shoulders. His father had shadows under his eyes. His father wasn't well. Damen didn't know how to reconcile the two: the crown he wanted, the father he loved.

He felt strangely conscious of it tonight, and he was worn out from the games, so he left the raucous hall and started off on the familiar path to his bedroom. Then he stopped, turned, went round a corner and another; turned back, frowning, tried not to make eye contact with the guards, tried another corridor, and then another.

The Veretian halls were all overdecorated enough to look the same: it was impossible to tell one glittering, mosaiced corridor from another. Damen stuck his head into what he was almost sure was a library they'd been in for a meeting the other day and swore; and then someone tugged lightly on his sleeve.

"You're lost," Laurent said.

Damen turned, feeling a little caught out, but managed a rueful smile. "I admit it."

"Come on," Laurent said, "I'll show you the way."

Damen followed him, looking down at Laurent's golden hair. He was dressed more plainly than Auguste, than all the Veretian courtiers, though still in more fabric than any Akielon would dream of: white linen bound tightly with embroidered threads of gold and silver lacing through it. 

"You don't like the late nights," he said, thinking; he couldn't remember Laurent's presence at most of the dinners so far, and it had seemed to fit with what people said, that the younger Veretian Prince was peaceful and a scholar, preferred to spend his time shut away with his books rather than in the limelight. Laurent hadn't joined in with the tournament, had only smiled in a politely, faintly confused way when Damen and Auguste had a friendly sparring match. Laurent adored his brother, that was clear, people said that as well, they were as close as Damen and Kastor, closer; and he seemed to respect his uncle, who was admired everywhere for his diplomacy and political mind, and whom Damen had seen in deep conversation with Laurent, a fatherly hand on Laurent's shoulder. He was a good fit for a younger prince: well-liked, unobtrusive, not particularly drawn to power. And, Damen thought with a sleepy sort of satisfaction, he was handsome, beautifully so: he would look lovely in all of the royal portraits.

"I don't mind them," Laurent said.

"But you haven't been around," Damen said, smiling. "Perhaps our talk is too boisterous for you."

"I've sat up with you two nights in a row, Prince Damianos," Laurent said. "Perhaps you haven't noticed me."

Damen faltered for a moment, then laughed. "You tease," he said. "For after all, if you're so fond of parties, why aren't you there now? I believe your brother and my court are settling in for a long and entertaining night."

"But here I am," Laurent said, "with you." Damen blinked at him, tired and uncomprehending, and Laurent leaned back against a doorway, the sprawled length of limbs almost as though he were hardly standing up at all, and added, "So that makes three nights."

"Yes," Damen said, and watched, suddenly waiting for something. He couldn't say what. He couldn't be sure.

"This is your room," Laurent said, and nodded through the open door Damen hadn't even bothered glancing at yet.

"Ah, yes," Damen said. He waited a moment, then walked into the room. Laurent was still lounging in the doorway, had barely moved except to turn his head, gaze following Damen across the room. Damen turned and looked back at him. Laurent's face was cool but there was something under it, something almost eager. Damen watched him. His thoughts felt slow and warm. He folded his arms across his chest and eyed Laurent for a long moment, and watched Laurent's face change, his eyes darkening, something that was almost a blush warming his pale skin until suddenly, almost inelegantly, Laurent jerked into a proper standing posture, back straight, chin up, eyes fixed on Damen.

"Thank you," Damen said.

"You're welcome."

"Good night," Damen said, and Laurent turned on his heel with remarkable efficiency.

Damen didn't call for the slave he'd brought with him. Veretian beds were heavy and carved and over the top; he pushed back all the hangings, which felt as though they were closing in on him and sprawled out on top of the opulent covers. He fell into sleep still thinking.

\---

Now that he was conscious of the young prince's attention, he couldn't stop noticing. Laurent was at the edges of everything: quiet, rarely speaking, rarely drawing attention to himself. Occasionally Auguste would look to him and Laurent would lean in and murmur in his ear. Everyone else's eyes seemed to drift over Laurent, focusing in on their golden king. But Laurent watched everything, quicksilver and sharp-eyed.

Most of the time, though, he was watching Damen.

They broke the discussions for lunch; once again, Auguste's uncle was called away on political business and Damen was seated with Laurent on his right. Laurent looked at him, limpid and inoffensive. He said, "So you've noticed me, now."

"You've made yourself obvious," Damen said.

"I waited you out." Laurent looked almost bored, eating his food with supercilious delicacy. "It only took a little arranging."

"Arranging?"

Laurent said, "My uncle's matters of state."

Damen gaped at him.

"I had the feeling," Laurent said, "you'd need me right in front of your nose."

"How could you _fake_ matters of state?"

"I didn't say I faked them," Laurent said. "I arranged them."

Damen stared.

"A few little property disputes." Laurent reached for a bowl and washed his fingers fastidiously. "They were going to flare up eventually. I just - hastened them."

"You played with the lives and fortunes of men?" Damen said, in a low, incredulous voice. "To _sit next to me at dinner_?"

"There's no need to sound so shocked," Laurent said. "They didn't involve any of your court. Well. No one from your court is Patrician, are they?"

Damen let out a shocked, furious laugh. "Why didn't you just join in the games?"

"I didn't feel like it."

"I would have sparred with you--"

"But I didn't want you to think me weak," Laurent said, almost batting his eyelashes, voice dry, "and everyone says you are _such_ a marvellous swordsman."

"So instead I think you a fool," Damen said, voice hard, "and selfish, and someone who plays with the fate of men to have his own way."

Laurent's expression did not change. His mouth crooked up, very slightly. "It was only a very few properties."

"Thank heavens you are not king," Damen said, and pushed aside his finished plate, turning away.

Beside him, quietly, Laurent said, "Yes."

\---

Damen lasted a bare hour after lunch before he excused himself from the discussion: there was nothing new that would come this afternoon, and Kastor, Jokaste and his advisors could handle it. Laurent had not bothered turning up, though Damen did not think he was feeling at all ashamed of himself. He did not particularly feel like being in the company of the young prince of Vere; he took his horse and his sword instead and dismissed his retinue, sent his ride out of the city and up into the hills beyond it. His father would have been furious at the idea of Damen riding out alone and unprotected in a strange country. But he wanted to be alone: and he knew his strength. He relied on Kastor in those quiet rooms, to make sure that Akielos was only given its due and was receiving what it needed, but alone, with a sword, he knew his worth.

When he was far enough away that he could no longer see the towers of Arles, he tied his horse to a tree and flung himself on the grass, breathing hard. But his limbs felt restless and his thoughts clouded and angry; after a while he got back to his feet and took out his sword, moving through drills thoughtlessly, trying to clear his mind.

"You'll find that easier with an opponent," Prince Laurent said.

Damen didn't whirl around, had been aware of an intruder for some moments now; a soft, hesitant tread that did not make him think he was under attack. He let his sword find the last movements of the set. He turned, breathing even.

"I didn't come up here looking for an opponent," he said. "How did you follow me?"

"Belatedly," Laurent said. "I'm quite a good rider. I'll fight with you."

"You said you didn't wish me to think you weak."

Laurent shrugged. He tied his horse to the same tree as Damen's, smoothed a hand down her nose and murmured something to her. "You already think that," he said, and turned around, unsheathing his sword. "Come on. You gave my brother a go."

Damen kept his sword in a loose-handed grip, the tip hovering above the ground, and waited. Laurent came toward him and for a moment they faced off, quiet. Then Laurent lifted his sword, and gave Damen what he wanted, coming at him hard.

Their swords caught, and broke, then caught again, heavy-handed attacks meant to size the opponent up. Damen was stronger, as he had expected. Laurent was fast and clever, a better swordsman than Auguste. Two hours ago, Damen would have been surprised.

They fought grimly, near silent except for the clash of swords and the tread of their feet on the earth. Laurent was all bright eyes and concentration. He feinted, and sometimes that came close to tripping Damen up, though never quite close enough. He was good. He darted in and out of Damen's range and said at last, "I thought you might be more surprised."

"I might have been," Damen said, throwing all of his weight into a blow; Laurent winced and slipped out from under it, panting. "Except the council after lunch was abuzz with what you had done. Auguste could barely contain his pride."

"Couldn't he," Laurent said, with a quick, amused look and a lunge in towards Damen's heart; Damen fought him off.

"I think he was perhaps the only other person who'd realised it was _you_ who'd done it," Damen said. "Revealed the trickery of an older despot trying to keep a rightful son from inheriting. _And_ the fact that your uncle was covering it up. They are considering breaking the peace talks tomorrow to discuss whether he should be censured by the Council."

"He'll get out of it," Laurent said, out of breath now. "He always does."

"You're not fond of your uncle?"

"I told you, he was in my way," Laurent said, darting back in, a quick flurry of moves that were impressive and needed all of Damen's concentration, for a moment, to defend. "I cleared it."

"You're very good," Damen said, and beat Laurent back, and back, and back, moving fast and demanding until Laurent's sword was knocked out of his hand and Laurent ended up pressed up against a tree, Damen's sword tip at his throat. "You're not good enough, though. And you showed your hand. If you lied about that - who knows what else you'll lie about."

Laurent swallowed hard; the swordpoint rode up and down with the movement. "You're very suspicious," he said, and lunged, but Damen had been expecting the movement and threw himself up against Laurent, pinning him to the tree and catching hold of his wrist, squeezing warningly until Laurent dropped the dagger.

"Are you actually trying to kill me?" he demanded, and Laurent looked surprised.

"Of course not," he said. "I told you what I wanted."

"No," Damen said, "you didn't--"

"Well, not in so many words," Laurent said, and Damen threw aside his sword and kissed him.

Laurent's body was a long string of tension. He went to move against Damen again, and Damen pulled both his wrists back, hard against the grain of the wood. Laurent shoved forward, and Damen shoved him back.

When he broke away Laurent was gasping, eyes nearly all pupil. He said, "Putting your hands on me like that is an offence."

"Good," Damen said, and did it again, infuriated and confused. He wanted to keep Laurent here, between Damen and a hard surface, for hours. He wanted to throw him down onto the grass. He wanted to see Laurent - impeccable and strange and a liar - go down onto his knees. He would have it all. 

Laurent broke one wrist free, that secret strength, and touched at Damen's hair, light and almost delicate. When Damen pulled back, Laurent licked his lips and said hazily, "Now I have your attention."


End file.
